Last Breath
by LilyGhost
Summary: Stephanie's confidence gets a boost for being in a position to help someone who needs it, only to find herself questioning everything before she can.


**Everyone familiar belongs to Janet. The mistakes are mine. The last line of this story was inspired by a quote I saw online.**

" _Shit_ ," I said, after I flipped open the file Connie just handed me and looked at the mugshot of my FTA.

"I figured you wouldn't like seeing her in trouble again."

"She's really a good kid who comes from a family that doesn't seem to like her and refuses to cut her any slack. I saw a lot of the old me in her when I first brought her in, and I haven't forgotten her. She knows that, since she rolls her eyes in a ' _here we go again_ ' way whenever I track her down."

"Lula should be here in twenty. Her place is getting fumigated again, at least that _today's_ excuse for being late. Do you want to wait for her?"

"No. She'll just make things worse and the capture harder. I know where to look for Raine. It's usually only one of three places."

"I'm assuming you want her bonded out again?"

"Definitely," I told her. "She doesn't deserve to be locked up ... she just hasn't found a reason not to be yet."

"And _you_ plan on being that reason?" She guessed.

"If she lets me this time."

"You know I'm here till five."

"Thanks, Connie. I'll make sure to _get her_ and _call you_ before then."

I went with my gut and hit the park first. If I'm remembering it right, she wanted a dog, but couldn't afford it or a place that'd let her keep one, so she likes to go where she can be around them without any of the work or the worry of actual pet ownership.

"Hey, kid," I said, walking over to the bench Raine was sitting on.

Her body looked thinner, her expression more remote, and her posture appeared slumped under the weight of her current life. Her eyes had seemingly been glued to a pair of Rottweilers playing a game of fetch with a pink tennis ball that I saw was clenched in one set of jaws, but she knew I was there long before I spoke.

"We meet again, Steph. I figured I'd see you sooner or later."

"Since you were a no-show for your court date on yet another shoplifting charge, I'm guessing you knew it'd be _sooner_."

"I was hungry."

"There are other, less _illegal_ ways to get yourself fed ... like calling me and saying yes to the help I was offering. I promised you a job you wouldn't want to quit and won't get fired from."

"But I've gotten _sooo_ good at all the illegal ways of getting what I want," she told me, scooting over so I could sit down. "I have to get my kicks where I can these days."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but you sorta suck as a petty thief, since you were caught and arrested again for taking stuff."

"Maybe I just missed you so I got sloppy."

"Could be. I _have_ been told I'm amusing and irresistible. So ... how have you been?"

She hesitated for a few seconds before speaking. "Do you really want to know how I'm doing? Or are you just giving your legs a chance to stretch out a little before you stick them and me back in your car?"

"I actually want to know. You don't believe it, but I like you. Otherwise I would've just ordered you to get your ass in my vehicle before I tase it."

"Most people ask just because they think they're supposed to."

"I _rarely_ do what I'm supposed to, so if I'm asking ... I'm invested in the person and interested in the answers they give."

"Okay, if you think you can handle it."

"I may look like Burg girl fluff, but I have some grit to me."

"That's what everybody says until I suck them into my crap."

"Just call me _Hoover_ and spill."

"Well, I guess the quickest way to sum it up is to say that I've stopped asking for things to get better, I now just pray like hell that they don't get any worse."

"I remember having a few of those years myself, but things can get better. What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "Some days it feels like _everything's_ wrong, that I don't have any lower to go. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't sit or stand for long, my head or my stomach is always hurting, and I can't seem to focus on anything. I don't want to go out, but I've learned it's not smart to be alone. My slut-in-law said last week that I look like a cadaver and no one would care if I become one soon, so I'm not exaggerating here."

"Don't listen to shit like that. Opinions from open-leggers don't count."

"She's never mattered to me, but the rest of it is getting harder to talk myself through everyday."

I sat on my Cat-booted foot as I turned my body to face her. "What do you mean? Is your family being bigger douchebags than usual?"

"I _wish_ they were the only problem. I've been limiting contact so their name-calling and then turnaround favor-asking are the least of it now. Humor me here, close your eyes and picture this ... that everyday, over all twenty-four hours of it, and at completely random times throughout it, someone sneaks up silently behind you and then claps loudly right next to your ear."

I want to jump just thinking about it.

"That causes a pretty big reaction the _first_ time, now imagine that it happens repeatedly ... so you begin looking over your shoulder, or sitting with your back to the wall, to spot the a-hole before he scares you again, but you don't see him anywhere around. And just when you feel yourself starting to relax your guard a little ... _'Clap!'_ he strikes again. You quickly learn that it's _never_ safe to relax and you become hyperaware of your surroundings so maybe you'll be prepared for the next scare. Every second you spend waiting for the scary moment to happen, hoping then the tension will ease up, but essentially you're just wasting your life and ruining your stomach lining ... anticipating it, fearing it, then reacting to it once the inevitable noise comes again. And you go straight back to dread. The worst part is knowing it's all in my head. There's no actual dude stalking - and clapping at - me, nor is there a logical reason why I react like there is."

"That sounds exhausting," I admitted.

"You don't know the half of it ... _no one_ does."

"But there _has_ to be something to make it easier for you ... _on_ you."

"If there is, I haven't found it, figured it out, or have been given it. That's why I keep doing the stupid shit I do. I need something, _anything_ , to distract me from the clap."

"If this wasn't your life we're talking about, I'd make a you've 'got the clap' joke."

"It's okay to laugh," she assured me. "If I completely lost that ability, I'd be dead or crazy by now. I just need to figure out a way to get through this or finally end it."

"End _the crap_? Or _your life_?"

She lifted one shoulder, not in any way that reassured me.

"Is there anyone you can talk to about this?" I asked her.

"Are you kidding?"

"Doctor? Counselor? Priest? _Someone?_ Admitting that you can't handle something alone isn't anything to be ashamed of."

I felt like a total hypocrite, because _No One_ knew how freaked out and scared I'd been after the Ramirez and Uncle Mo-posse break-ins.

"I'm sick of spilling my guts only to hear that what I'm mad at isn't a big deal, what I'm upset over is nothing," she said, "that I'm only scared of something because I'm being a baby or acting crazy again. And of course the most repeated one is that I'm weird because I look unfeeling on the outside, but I feel everything more than anybody should."

This is starting to sound like 'discussions' I've had with people like Morelli and my mother when I try to explain how Ranger and his men aren't what they seem. They're machines when they're working or working out, because they _have_ to be strong and appear bullet-proof and stony-faced to survive - and replay nightly - some scary fucking situations. Nobody gets that the emotional cost of keeping that armor up makes them oddly vulnerable inside. You could kill them without needing a weapon ... and no one would understand how it happened.

"I know some people on both sides of that," I told Raine. "The so-called 'crazy' ones and the ones who claim to be normal but in actuality are _certifiable_."

"Some days they just skip it all," she admitted. "Without even glancing at me or pausing their day for a second when they see me around, they'll say _'You're fine'_ over their shoulder and completely ignore me afterwards until they need something again. Sure, I'm fine ... as long as no one really looks at me."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You don't know me then, because according to my boyfriend ... _everything_ and _everyone_ matters to me, too much to be called healthy at times."

"I heard that you're now shacking up with that hot bounty hunter guy ... or is he a business mogul?"

"Both, I guess. I prefer _living with_ to _shacking up_ , though _._ "

"See ... you got yourself higher up on the food chain."

"Yeah, but I've had my share of predators to escape first. It's hard to see myself as a good example, but I _am_ proof that sometimes you get rewarded for making it through whatever's thrown at you."

"You managed it because someone gives a shit that you're alive. My situation's different. You're chatting me up right now, but in a few minutes you _are_ going to arrest me. I'll go back behind bars until Connie gets me out again, and like everyone else does ... you'll forget I exist until you see my name scrawled somewhere or my mugshot winds up in your hands again."

"Wow ... cynical much?"

I felt better because she _did_ laugh. It was short and didn't involve her eyes at all, but it _is_ a start.

"I have no reason _not_ to be cynical," she smugly pointed out.

"You do now. Once I _do_ ask Connie to get you kicked back out of the TPD, I'm going to annoy the holy hell out of you by getting you a job where I can see you everyday and keep an eye on you."

"At Vinnie's?"

My disgust was visual as well as audible. " _God no!_ I'm not putting a female anywhere near Vinnie, never mind a cute blonde with a good heart. He acts like a pig around me and we're related." I gave her a mock-glare. "Don't spread that around. I still try to get away with telling people that he's just a boil of a boss I haven't gotten around to lancing yet."

"Gotcha ... and ewww."

"I haven't had the greatest parents, life, or experiences," I shared with her, "but a lot of the times ... all a person really needs is a chance. Ranger was/still is mine ... and I'd like to be yours if you'll finally agree to let me."

"Okay. Sure. Whatever. You'll change your mind real fast once I've been released again."

I carefully slid my arm around her bony shoulders so she wouldn't freeze up or freeze me out. "Nope. I'm nothing if not tenacious. If I stick my neck out for someone, it's getting chopped off right beside theirs. So if you want to spare me, you'll answer when I call and show up when I give you a time and a place."

She shook the free hand I held out to her. " _Deal_. If you're seriously going to give me a shot, I should be able to woman up and take it."

"Good. Now get your butt in my car. I don't want to dig my cuffs out of my bag so if you're going to be cooperative today, you can ride shotgun. The sooner I get you to the station, the sooner you'll be out. And then we'll start building you a better life so the old one can be put out of its misery."

"If you say so."

"I do ... so _move_."

She did. And I had her no longer an FTA less than an hour after I opened her file. This is someone I can help. I know it, I can feel it, and I will follow through with everything I've promised her. I'm probably the only person in her life that has said that and actually means it.

I rode that _'I'm doing a good deed'_ feeling for a grand total of seven hours. I called Connie before we'd even left the dog park so she could meet us at the station and bond Raine out. Over our lunch of Smoked Turkey subs that I'd picked up on my way back to Rangeman and his office, I also talked to Ranger about having a mentee of my own in the building as I have Raine test drive different jobs to see what career path would be the best fit for her.

Feeling optimistic should've been a tip-off that something was up, but thanks to Ranger and his people, I was learning to focus on the good without worrying that it'd attract the bad. So I was doubly upset when Connie called me out of the blue that night.

"Ahhh, Steph?" She said.

"Hey, Connie? What's up?"

"Have you heard?"

"Heard what? Let me guess, Lula did something to avoid coming to work after her place was bug-free? What was it? She hijacked a snack truck? Propositioned an undercover officer?"

"Raine Multan was pronounced dead twenty minutes ago at St. Francis. I just got off the phone with Lorna Culpik. She was on call at the hospital when Raine was brought in. You know Lorna's husband Larry works at the station and he knew I was there today to arrange Raine's release. Word spread quickly."

"I just spoke to her a couple of hours ago, so they have to have Raine confused with someone else."

"I'm sorry, Steph, but she was struck by a car crossing Market Street where that new convenience store just opened up ... nothing they did was able to save her."

I could feel my blood drain from my face one drop at a time. If I hadn't been sprawled on the couch with Ranger absently rubbing my feet, my legs would've given out and dropped me on my ass.

"What happened?" He asked me, automatically sitting up in strike/defense-mode.

In my head I swear to God I heard a loud clap. I fought the hysterical urge to laugh as I thought about the _always_ _on guard_ feelings Raine had tried to describe. Tears shot out of my stupid eyes before I could stop them.

"Raine's dead," I croaked out, still not believing it.

"I'll let you go," Connie told me, sensing the emotional storm that had already begun to brew. "I just thought you'd want to know."

I didn't. This is the _last_ thing I want to know. Raine was more than just a job to me. We all knew that.

Ranger pried my cell out of my hand and disconnected the call. He tossed my phone on the couch behind me as he tugged me into his arms.

"How?" Was what he asked.

"Connie said she was hit by a car over by _'All-Nighter_ ' on Market Street."

Trying to hide from the grief, I pressed my face so hard into his chest, I'll be shocked if there isn't a permanent nose print on his pec. I tried to steady my breathing so I wouldn't get his shirt full of snot and tears as this started to sink in.

"Raine told me this afternoon that she was willing to give me a chance to prove she can trust me," I continued. "And now she's dead twelve hours before we were all set to discover what Rangejob she'd get to brag about having? It makes no fucking sense."

"Death seldom does."

"I was going to help her see, like I did, that although she hadn't been born into the most caring or interested family, she could have a great one here with all of us. My Spidey Sense was already telling me that once she started liking herself enough to accept other people showing it, she and Zero were going to become inseparable. She deserved a life like I have now."

"Did she purposely jump in front of the car?" He asked me, causing my body to flinch under the solid weight of his arms. "You were worried that something would happen to her soon if you didn't intervene."

"I wondered that myself for about a second, but she cared more about other people than herself. I can't see her putting that kind of guilt or suffering on someone intentionally."

I pictured her adorable oval-shaped face and green eyes in my mind as I replayed the conversation I'd had with her this afternoon when I'd called to tell her to be at the Rangeman gate no later than seven tomorrow morning.

"This time was different," I said, probably trying to convince myself more than him. "She was going to trust me enough to let me help her. She _promised_. She's never done that before. It was an accident ... a horribly-timed one, but that's what it _had_ to have been. I _refuse_ to think otherwise."

"It's okay to hold onto that belief, Babe. No one can resist you when you're on a mission to save them, so I'll agree with you that this is likely just a tragic accident. When you're ready, we can discuss what you'd like to do for her now. Unless you'd prefer I handle all the arrangements?"

I hiccuped back a sob that had him sliding a hand up and down my back in sympathy. Death is nothing new to him. He's already had to deal with way more than his fair share of it.

"I don't want to be thinking about this," I told him. "She was too young, too good of a person. It's not fair that Scrog and Con are still alive somewhere and she isn't. That saying _'Life sucks and then you die'_ isn't too far off, except in Raine's case it was more like ' _Everything sucks all the time, and just when it won't anymore ... you die._ "

There isn't anything he can say to that, and he can't change what happened, so he just kissed the top of my head and tightened the arms he had around me until I felt like talking again.

My voice held a tinge of bitterness when I did. "I'm sure her 'family' will be thrilled that not only is she gone, they won't have to spend any time, effort, or money, getting her out of their lives for good. I hate that I didn't try harder to save her sooner, so the very least I can do is give her the recognition and the goodbye she truly deserves."

"This isn't your fault, Steph."

"I know, but it's still going to take me some time to convince myself of that."

I want to start bawling just thinking it, but I honestly believe her last breath was really a sigh of pure relief to her.


End file.
